


patches

by Synapse



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Best Friends, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lack of self care, Overworking, Platonic Relationships, S1-S2 gap, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synapse/pseuds/Synapse
Summary: In the wake of Robin's death, Dick's struggling to hold himself together. Wally helps, and recruits assistance in the form of an old stuffed friend.
Relationships: Artemis Crock/Wally West, Dick Grayson & Wally West
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83





	patches

**Author's Note:**

> I ran across this amazing Tumblr for a stuffed animal hospital a little while back, and it sparked a few ideas, which lead to this.

A dark apartment stands in a complex in Bludhaven, its thin walls and high ceilings quiet among its fellows. The curtains- where there are any- flutter in the mild evening breeze floating through the single open window, trailing the scent of exhaust and rotting garbage through half-opened boxes and the unmade bed. Somewhere there’s a faucet dripping, _tink-tink-tink_ joining the faint lullaby of sirens and gunshots. 

Almost too faint to be heard by human ears, metal creaks. The window slips further open to admit a slender form through its girth, black nearly indistinguishable against the night. Nightwing drops near-silent to the floor and raises his head to scan.

“Why does it always have to be windows?” 

Having determined the lack of an immediate threat, Nightwing straightens and turns to the window. His lips curl up in a grimaced half-smile. 

Kid Flash is half-clinging to the ledge beneath the opening, looking discombobulated and out of place even with the camouflage mode of his suit turned on. It’s not like they haven’t done windows before. They’ve done a lot of windows. It’s just that Nightwing’s is particularly narrow and it’s really kind of in a bad spot and _seriously, Dick, couldn’t you have just let us in through the door or something?_

(Of course, he knows why he couldn’t have. Hell, he and Artemis don’t go walking in full uniform up to their doorstep in Palo Alto, and they’ve got a pretty quiet neighborhood, all things considered.) 

“Because doors are for people without imagination,” Nightwing quips, and reaches out to pull his old friend in. Kid Flash lets him, swinging in with a sort of half-grace, half-ungainliness. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t bother to try to be agile about it. It’s Dick’s apartment, after all, and unless it was bugged in the four hours they’ve been out it’s more or less safe. As safe as an apartment with thin walls in the bad area of Bludhaven can get, anyway. But he’s known his friend more than long enough to notice the way he’s favoring his side, the way a faint frown tugs at his lips when he goes to help Wally in. Since M’gann isn’t here to do it for him he’s going to have to pull the mother hen card. 

At one time he wouldn’t have worried about it. Once upon a time, Robin bound his wounds like the rest of them, albeit a little later than strictly necessary. But times have changed and they’ve gotten older, and Robin went from Dick’s title to Jason’s, and then they lost Jason, and after that nothing’s been quite the same. For all of them, really, but Wally wishes the new kids knew that there had been a time when they hadn't needed to drag their fearless leader to the infirmary. 

So he lets himself be pulled in, rights himself and immediately points at the nearest available chair. His stomach’s growling, but if this gets put off it’ll never get done. Then Wally will have to explain to M’gann, _again_ , why they have to pull Dick from the roster for the day. Dick won’t do it himself because he doesn’t want to admit to the pain of an infected cut or pulled muscle. 

Dick sees him looking at the wound, sees him looking at the chair, and immediately shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says, closing the window and pulling the drapes. 

“No, you’re not."

“I’ll take care of it-” 

“No, you won’t.”

Dick turns to him, his mouth half-open, recognizes his stubborn expression, and closes it. 

Wally turns the full force of Barry’s “I am the Flash and you’re my partner and you need to take care of yourself _now_ , Kid” glare on him, and Dick wilts. He starts to move across the apartment toward a lone duffle.

Wally darts in front of him, both hands up. “Nuh-uh. Chair. Now.” 

Dick glares.

Wally glares back.

Dick, who hasn’t slept for the last twenty-four hours and still insisted on going out on patrol, and who only took him because Wally told him he didn’t want to lose another Teammate- much less his best friend- to some dumb hoodlum, and is _still managing the team_ , somehow, flops into the chair and begins the process of peeling off his shirt. 

Success!

Wally tugs off his cowl and moves to the duffle bag, rifling through the messy contents for the kit. His fingers land on the rough weave, and he tugs it out. Something else comes with it, something soft and small and fuzzy.

He blinks. There’s a blue stuffed elephant on the floor.

“Okay,” he mutters, picks it up and moves back over to Dick. 

Dick, who has managed to remove the domino mask and the upper layer of his costume, is poking warily at a long cut on his arm. It’s nothing some antiseptic and bandaging and time won’t fix. Wally flips the kit open within Dick’s reach, grabs an apple from the fridge, and settles himself against the edge of the counter. He sets the elephant next to the kit and examines it a little closer.

It’s an old, well-worn plush, made of velvety fabric. The blue has dulled and dimmed, but Wally’s seen his fair share of old stuffed toys and knows how time fades color. He can guess at the bright sky-blue it once was. There are old button eyes and two yellow patches- different fabrics, different shades, one on the rump and one on a leg- and a tail with sparse and tattered yarn at the end. It’s cute, in a worn-out and well-loved way.

Dick takes the antiseptic out, then pauses, eyes falling on the elephant.

“Oh,” he says, as Wally takes a loud bite of the apple. It’s mushy, and he pulls a face. “Zizi.”

“Zizi?” Wally questions through his bite.

Dick shrugs, staring at the elephant. “I used to take her with me. Back when I was with my parents. I didn’t have a lot of stuff since we were on the road all the time, but she was good company on longer trips. When the accident happened, I brought her with me. I grew out of her pretty quick, so she’s been on a shelf in my room. I guess Alfred must have put her in when I wasn’t looking. There was an elephant in the circus,” he adds quietly. “Zitka. I named my toy after her.”

“Oh.” Wally looks at the elephant a second time through new eyes. He’s always preferred action figures to stuffed toys, comics to picture books, Legos and models to crafts. But he does remember the old Flash blanket, stuffed in a box in the back of his closet, that he curled up with when he was a kid. “Huh.”

Dick shrugs again and takes out a rag, dousing it in antiseptic before beginning to clean his cut. He grimaces a little at the sting. “Yeah.”

They go quiet for a little while. Dick bandages his wound while Wally finishes his apple and digs into a slice of cold pizza. He drops a plate with a slice on the counter for Dick, but his friend’s barely touched food lately, even M’ganns' (now considerably better) cookies. 

Actually, Wally’s pretty sure this is the same pizza he ordered for them four days ago. He’d left food behind for Dick that time, and if _Wally_ was doing that then there had to be something wrong. 

Dick disappears into the bedroom with the first aid kit. Wally gives him five minutes to change, and when they’re up he grabs the plate off the counter. As he turns to go pester Dick, he sees the elephant again.

_Hmm._

He picks Zizi up and heads for the bedroom.

Inside, Dick’s already sitting at the desk, his laptops' blue light the only illumination in the room. Between its faint glow, the bags under his eyes and the sallow tone of his skin, he's ghostly. Wally flicks the light on, drops the plate of food next to a stack of papers, and puts one hand on the back of the chair, leaning over Dick’s shoulder to get a better look. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

Half the windows are closed before he can catch a glimpse of what they’re for. 

”They’re confidential, Wally.”

“Uh-huh. Are you going to eat that pizza or not?”

He casts a glance at it, then turns back to the computer. “Later. I have… I have a report to write.”

“It’s two-thirty in the morning. How much later can you get?” Dick mumbles something and drags a paper closer. “Dick, seriously, did you even eat before we left?” 

“Not all of us have a hummingbird’s metabolism, Wally.” It’s meant to be a friendly jab, but Dick only sounds tired when he says it, and it sounds more annoyed than anything. 

“You’re still a human burning, what, three thousand calories a day?”

“You’re starting to sound like Alfred.”

“Don’t make me call him.”

Dick stiffens. “I’ll eat, okay? Let me finish this report.”

“And how long will that take?” _Plus a shower_ , Wally adds in his head, _and laundry. And sleep_. The room is almost more of a disaster than his own from sophomore year.

Dick makes a noncommittal noise. 

Wally sighs and reaches over to push the laptop shut. Then he puts Zizi on top for good measure. “Work can wait for ten minutes.”

“The report-”

“Does not matter more than you!” he shoots back. “Did you seriously forget everything we learned? What about Canary’s lecture? Uncle Barry came to talk to us about it instead of going to that investigation! Dick, fucking eat something or I’m calling Alfred or M’gann.” He pauses, and then adds softly, ”Don’t end up like Roy.”

Dick flinches at the last bit. He sighs. Then he pulls the plate closer and takes a bite.

“Thank you,” Wally says, and sits down on the unmade bed. 

Halfway through his slice, Dick asks, ”Have you heard anything?”

“No. He’s still off the radar. Green Arrow thinks he’s getting closer, but Artemis isn’t getting answers from Jade and she says Arrow’s a long way off.”

“I could-” 

“No,” Wally says. “You’re barely keeping up with your own work. We can handle it.”

Dick looks hurt, but goes back to eating his pizza, one hand absently fingering Zizi’s ear. His phone buzzes, but before he can look at it Wally puts it on the other side of the room. 

“ _Wally_.”

“What?”

“What if that’s important?”

Wally raises an eyebrow. “More important than food?”

“I’m finished.”

“More important than a _shower_?”

Dick sighs, grabs some clothes off his bed and heads for the bathroom.

Wally takes the opportunity to change into his T-shirt and sweatpants, then checks his phone. There’s a text from Artemis.

_babe <3 _

_2:47 AM_

Finished patrol w SB. U done yet?

_2:50 AM_

[thumbs up emoji]

Dick’s being an ass again so i’m staying until he’s asleep

_babe <3 _

_2:52 AM_

K

Do we need to keep him in the cave again?

_2:52 AM_

Maybe

He’s not eating again

Or sleeping

_babe <3 _

_2:53 AM_

F

Gtg, SB found a new friend

We’ll talk about it later

_2:53 AM_

Good luck

Love u

_babe <3 _

_2:53 AM_

Love u too

He sets the phone down, then looks around the room and grimaces. Cleaning is not and never has been his forte. But dishes are stacked haphazardly at the counter, clothing covers the floor, and wrappers and papers and screws and other bits and bobs are scattered everywhere. He’s pretty sure the escrima sticks lying in the corner should be locked in the secret closet, not the normal one. The first-aid kit is probably better off in the bathroom than lying open on the cluttered counter. The Nightwing costume, shoved slapdash under the bed, definitely needs a better hiding place. 

In two minutes he manages to put the trash in the bin, run water in the sink for the dishes, tosses the dirty clothing in a hamper, and hangs what parts of Dick’s costume he knows the booby traps for in the compartment hidden in the closet. His mom would be proud. (Artemis had made it pretty clear when they started talking about getting their own place that it wouldn’t be the disaster his room was. So far they’re doing pretty well. But papers and books are starting to collect on the coffee table, and even Artemis isn’t amazing about putting her clothes in the laundry bin, so he isn’t sure how long it’s going to last.)

A few minutes later, with dishes stacked dripping in the rack and the first-aid kit repacked, Dick steps out of the bathroom in a soft gray tank top and sweats. He looks around in surprise. Wally hands him the kit. 

“Did you clean my apartment?” he asks, sounding stunned.

Wally shrugs. “You weren’t doing it. Got too used to Alfred, huh?”

Dick shakes his head. “You never clean anything.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“I’ve been in your room. A lot.”

“Ask Artemis! Our apartment is clean! I wash dishes!”

Dick raises a skeptical eyebrow but goes to put the kit back in the bathroom. Then he goes back to the desk. Wally groans out loud.

“Are you ever gonna sleep?”

“I just need to finish this report-”

“How soon does Bats need it?”

“In the next twenty-four hours, but I’ve got-”

“Sleep first, report second,” Wally answers, and comes over to close the laptop again. He picks up Zi-Zi from a stack of papers and sticks her in Dick’s hands, who looks at him reproachfully. 

“I have to get this done.”

An idea’s tickling the back of his mind. Wally contemplates the situation, decides Dick already knows he doesn’t have any dignity, and takes Zizi back. 

“Zizi wants you to go to sleep.”

Dick stares at him, incredulous. “Zizi’s a stuffed animal, Wally.”

“Who says she doesn’t want you to sleep?”

“Stuffed animals don’t want things.”

“Tell that to the five-year-old kid who dropped his teddy bear in a burning building a week ago.”

(That had been a hell of a day. The Rogues had gone full-steam on Central while Wally and Artemis were in town, and even between the two of them and Barry it hadn’t been easy, stopping two simultaneous arsons and a mini tornado and trying to run across an iced-over pond in the middle of summer.)

“ _I_ want to finish the report.”

“Dick.”

Dick looks at him.

Wally looks at Dick, using every ounce of exasperation and pleading and _stop being an ass because we want you to be okay, goddammit, and just because we lost Jason doesn’t mean you can do this to us._

Dick sighs. “Fine.”

“Yes,” Wally crows. In the blink of an eye, he’s at the back of Dick’s chair, lifting it and tipping its wriggling contents onto the bed with a grunt. 

Dick yelps, faceplanting into the sheet, and groans. “Wally.”

Wally picks up Zizi and puts her on the nightstand, then waits as Dick wriggles under a blanket. He turns out the light, then lies down on top of the sheets beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting until you fall asleep,” Wally says.

“Don’t you have to get home?”

“Yeah, but if I leave before you’re actually sleeping you’ll get up again and we’ll have to deal with Zombie Nightwing for the next three days.”

Dick grumbles but doesn’t deny it, and they lie in silence for a little while. Wally almost falls asleep, but the thought of Artemis keeps him awake. Dick’s breathing evens out. After a few minutes for safety, Wally rolls off the narrow bed and creeps out of the room. He checks his phone.

_babe <3 _

_3:24 AM_

Is he asleep yet?

_3:36 AM_

Yeah

Finally got him to sleep

Coming now

_babe <3 _

_3:37 AM_

Great

_3:37 AM_

He better not get up in half an hour

He’s staying in the cave tonite

_babe <3 _

_3:37 AM_

Fine by me

Get your ass home, baywatch

I want to sleep too

He smiles, tucks the phone in his bag, and quietly closes the door behind him before running home.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't realize how much I wrote about Dick's problems in the S1-S2 gap until I started posting my fics, at which point it occurred to me that I may possibly have a lot of feelings about Jason's death and just how overworked Dick seemed in season two. (And season three, but that's a fic for another day.) Oops? 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sure I'm not the only one with an old stuffed animal sitting on a shelf in my room. Intriguingly, there's a lot of research into the role of comfort objects, including some that suggests they help some children develop positive self-talk! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Thanks for reading, as always! <3
> 
> P.S. I've got a Tumblr now! Come scream with me about Young Justice! eyrieofsynapses.tumblr.com


End file.
